


Still I call it magic (when I'm next to you)

by EponineTheStrange (gallifreyandglowclouds)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry also thinks in parentheses because why heck not, M/M, bottom!Louis, let's be honest Harry probably cries a little during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyandglowclouds/pseuds/EponineTheStrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Works on the assumption that Louis goes and surprises Harry when he made his triumphant arrival in Los Angeles. Then, smut happens. That's it. That's the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still I call it magic (when I'm next to you)

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be kind of fluffy but then there were feelings. (I mean, I have a lot of feelings about more matching tattoos for the 'mortal enemies' and Louis' hair, but... I don't think I'm alone there.) Unbeta'd because it's 1:30 a.m. and I also don't have a beta.

_Who the fuck is knocking on my door at nine-thirty_?

Harry cycles through the logical list of people – Mum and Des are out doing… _things_ he’d rather not contemplate, Gemma’s not even on the continent, Cal said he’d leave him alone if he promised to not leave his hotel room or post any other cryptic tweets or instagrams, and he and Kendall have agreed to not see each other while he’s in LA. (Well, she’s in Paris, kind of conveniently, but that’s probably for the best.)

Which still begs the obvious question: who the hell is knocking on the door to his flat at 9:30?

He pauses the CSI rerun he’d only been half paying attention to, pulls a t-shirt on, and goes to answer the door, because whoever’s knocking is an impatient asshole and can’t seem to wait for the thirty seconds it takes for him to get from the living room to the front door. (No, he didn’t order a pizza either, or maybe someone ordered a pizza for him. Yes, that’s definitely what’s going on – Cal knows that there’s not much food in the flat, so he ordered Harry a pizza. Well done, Cal.)

He opens the door, expects to have to apologise to some random pimply teenager holding a Domino’s bag because his wallet is in the other room – but that’s not a pizza delivery boy at the door.

It’s a damn good thing that Harry’s not holding anything, because he’d probably have dropped it, and the last thing that he’s thinking about is dealing with broken glass or a mess on the floor.

“Hey,” Louis says, giving him a little wave and smirking. “You gonna let me in, or what?”

The answer is yes, obviously, he’s going to let him in and then he’s going to blow him until he cries, but all the blood that should be helping Harry perform higher functions has swiftly departed his brain for… other places.

“Yeah, shit, sorry,” he says, stepping aside, and letting Louis step inside. Harry is going to totally wreck that tank top. Why the hell would Louis ever wear something like that? “There’s like, no food in the house. I’ll, uh, I’ll do some shopping tomorrow?”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just makes his way down the hallway towards his – their? – bedroom, presumably to drop off his bag. Harry follows him, hands shaking just a little, and he also realises now where that damn headband went, because he literally hadn’t seen it since they were in Jamaica. (They’re going to have to have a talk about the stealing clothes thing – namely, Louis is going to be doing a lot more of it.)

Louis puts his shoulder bag down gingerly by ‘his’ side of the bed – he’s only been in the flat once or twice, the place is so new – so they haven’t really marked out any specific territory quite yet. But hey, if Harry gets to have Louis for the next however long, they can work on that part. It’s good that all of Louis’ summer clothes are in their wardrobe (he had them all shipped over to the US, inexplicably), which is why (Harry assumes) that Louis only has that little shoulder bag.

“That’s a lovely shade of pink you’re turning there, Haz,” Louis says, and that’s when Harry realises that 1) there’s a king size bed between the two of them and 2) that’s way too far away.

He doesn’t have to pretend that Louis doesn’t make him blush like a teenager – they’re long past the need for coyness in their relationship – so he just looks down at his feet and bites his lip.

“It’s good to see you, Boo. And surprising. Good surprising.” Harry runs his hand through his hair and looks down at his feet. “Can’t believe you kept this one under wraps.”

“I’m full of surprises, what can I say?” Louis crosses his arms. “I’m also a little impressed you’ve managed to make it quite this long without jumping me. Liam and I had a bet that…”

Harry doesn’t really want to hear about stupid bets that Louis had with Liam on transatlantic flights, so he attempts to leap across the bed to get at Louis. It doesn’t really work (why did he think that it would?) and after faceplanting into the duvet, he rolls over and looks up at the ceiling in utter defeat.

“You,” Louis says, kneeling on the bed beside Harry, “are such an idiot.”

“That’s why you _like_ like me, Lou,” Harry says shaking his head and smiling, because yes, he’s the biggest idiot on the face of the planet but it kind of doesn’t matter because his boy is closer to him than he’s been in weeks, and Louis has got those beautiful crinkles around his eyes that make Harry’s heart want to explode. “C’mere.”

Louis lies down beside Harry and rolls on to his side. “Christ, I missed you.”

Harry leans in and closes the gap between them, kissing Louis with everything he’s got. He rolls so he’s right on top of Louis, his legs settling between Louis’. Harry slips his hands under the arch of Louis back and under his tank top, because he’s gone far too long without running his fingers across Louis’ skin (and oh, all that training that he’s been doing for his football match is so manifestly obvious _and wonderful_ ) and before he knows it he’s effectively pushed Louis’ tank top up and off enough that he just tosses it over his head and kisses down Louis’ neck.

Louis’ hips buck up at the sensation, and Harry nips lightly at his skin involuntarily, because he can feel Louis’ cock, hot and heavy through his sweatpants, and Harry knows that his erection is straining hard against his zipper, and he’d better do something about that fairly soon, otherwise he’s going to pass out (and that – that would really, really suck). He rests his forehead against Lou’s, just to try and get his breathing under control.

“No fucking way I’m peeling off your jeans,” Louis says, a little breathless, “but I’d kind of appreciate no trousers.”

“Boo,” Harry says, “you’re gonna have to get used to the skinny jeans sometime.” Saying no to Louis has never been his strong suit, however, so he rolls off Louis and divests himself of his trousers and pants and top, and before he can actually ask, Louis is back on top of him, kissing him like it’s the end of the fucking world or something.

(Harry can get behind this.)

“What do you want, Lou?” Harry asks breathlessly when they break apart again. “What’s it gonna be tonight?” It’s a goddamned miracle that he’s still stringing cogent sentences together at this point, because he can feel Louis’ erection pressing into his stomach, and he’s honestly considering just wanking them both because the need to get off and be close to Louis is pressing in his mind, and he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to hold on for.

“Hmmm,” Louis says, deliberating, and dropping a quick kiss to Harry’s nose. “Wanna ride you, Haz.”

_Jesus_. They haven’t done that in ages – and it’s something Louis likes, Harry knows this for a fact – so it’s always nice to have him asking for it like this.

“Right then,” Harry says, “off you get.” When Louis pouts, he shakes his head and says, “Just for a second, bossy.” He reaches into his nightstand and grabs some lube (they’d decided in January that, after three and however much years together, they could safely ditch condoms) and scoots up to sit against the headboard of the bed. Louis is in his lap in a second.

“Do you want to prep yourself, or do you want me to do it?” He asks.

“Please, Haz,” Louis says, scooting forward and tracing the outline of the sparrows with his thumbs. Harry slicks up his fingers and reaches around to find Louis’ hole and gently presses one finger inside. Louis inhales sharply – cold, probably – and he drops his forehead against Harry’s. It’s all gloriously intimate and Harry’s heart is probably going to explode clear out of his chest – that is, if he doesn’t completely lose it over the little breathy moans Louis makes, and the way he rocks his hips on Harry’s fingers, and the way his hands, previously stroking up and down Harry’s arms, grip tight on his triceps when he brushes two fingers over Louis’ prostate.

“Haz,” Louis grits out, rocking his hips down on Louis’ fingers, “can we? Now?”

Harry runs his fingers over Louis’ prostate once more (just once more for good measure, which earns him Louis’ nails clawing into his back in a way that’s going to leave the best kind of marks on his back in the morning), and then pulls his fingers out. He slicks himself up and gives himself a couple quick pulls (but he’s sort in that place where he’s not quite sure he’ll ever be properly soft again), and then gives Louis a quick nod.

Louis then sinks down on Harry’s cock, agonisingly slowly – and it’s remarkable, even though they haven’t done this for ages, how much sex between the two of them is straight up muscle memory – and Harry hisses and groans as the warmth and tightness that has always been such a hallmark of Louis envelopes him. He keeps a close watch on Louis’ face as he sinks down, because this is when he’s most open and vulnerable, and finally drops the walls that he puts up for most of the world.

Louis bottoms out, and doesn’t move right away – instead, he pulls Harry in for a insanely intense kiss, and in that moment it’s just them – no sounds from the traffic outside, no worries about what’s outside their little cocoon – just Harry and Louis, all wrapped up in each other. Louis starts rocking his hips then, just a little until he finds the best angle that gets him sputtering out little moans against where he’s got his head resting on Harry’s shoulder.

“God Lou, so good,” Harry just manages, and tries desperately to keep from coming right then when Louis’ teeth graze his collarbone. “So, so good for me, Lou. Love you so fucking much, you know that?”

He almost tears up with the intensity of everything – the pleasure of being able to fuck Louis (and if he had his druthers, they’d be doing this all the damn time), and the feelings of relief and completion that help to push away the loneliness that gnaws at him whenever he’s not tucked up against Louis.

“Yeah, Haz,” Louis says, and then groans again. His voice is wavering in a way that makes heat flare up in Harry’s abdomen. He wraps his hands around Louis’ hips, and Louis stops sucking a lovebite into the juncture between his neck and his shoulders for long enough to give Harry a quick nod, and then Harry starts properly bouncing Louis up and down on his cock. It takes his a couple of tries to get the angle right, but when he does, Louis starts to sob and his hands card through Harry’s hair. He pulls him in for a kiss, and not long after Louis comes with a moan.  

Harry’s so close that he’s probably going to burst, but Louis (who has the shortest refractory period that Harry’s even encountered, to be honest) starts fucking _whispering_ stupid little nothings in his ear, and then he really knows it’s game, set, and match after that.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, Hazza,” Louis breathes into his ear. “Been thinking about how you’ll come inside since we flew over New York, Hazza – “

That’s not even a particularly sexy thing to say, but that’s what does it for Harry – Louis’ hot breath against his ear and the knowledge that he’s been fantasising about what would happen when he surprised Harry. His hips snap up and he grips Louis’ hips hard than what’s probably called for as he spills into Louis.

Harry’s always pretty foggy after sex, so when Lou climbs off him, he just flops back on to the bed and stares up at the ceiling in an attempt not to fall asleep before he can get a good cuddle in.

Louis stumbles down the hall (Harry’s pretty sure that he hears a thump, and then Louis swear quietly) and comes back with two damp washcloths. Harry makes a halfhearted attempt to clean himself off before Louis rolls his eyes and takes over. Once they’re both done, Louis pulls the duvet up over him and Harry, and rests his head on Harry’s chest and snuggles into his side. Harry presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, and threads his fingers through the soft strands of hair sticking to the back of Louis’ neck.

“Missed you,” Louis says. “I missed you so much.”

Harry smiles, blissed out, because he’s got the one thing he’s always so desperately wanted – his boy by his side.

“Good to have you here, Lou.”

**Author's Note:**

> You should all come bug me on tumblr - [mywintersongtoyou](http://mywintersongtoyou.tumblr.com).


End file.
